


Palantir

by Petronia



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Hacking, Humor, One Shot, Palantir as in the company, not as in the crystal ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:09:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2411075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petronia/pseuds/Petronia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s the job, my lad,” Balin said. “Gandalf convinced us we need world class talent, and it’s hard to get hold of a fellow who’s off Smaug’s radar, hasn’t turned white hat, and isn’t in jail.” There was a pause. “Liked the warchalk mark, by the by. Very old school.”</p><p>“What?” said Bilbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Palantir

“Excuse me,” Hipster Glasses said, “but just to let you know, you might want to clean out your fridge. This cheese turned green, yeah?”

“That," Bilbo hissed, "is _sage derby._ "

“No, I think it’s just a weird mold,” said Hipster Glasses. Bilbo snatched the wax paper packet out of his unresisting hand, but it was clear that returning it to its proper place would be counterproductive: between the two of them, Hipster Glasses and Earflap Hat had decimated the contents of Bilbo’s refrigerator and pantry. Meanwhile The Terrible Twins had somehow gotten into the wine cellar and were hauling a 30-litre keg of Bag End Brewery(tm) honey brown ale up the stairs.

Bilbo felt a stress headache coming on. He turned to collar Gandalf as the tall senile git sailed past, in the wake of Scary Biker (...Dwalin?) and The Ginger No Not The Fat One The Other (no idea) carrying--

“Are those my Eames chairs? Holy shit _put that down_ \--”

Gandalf turned around, blocking Bilbo’s access to the dining room. Bilbo uttered more words not fit for polite company, which at any rate he did not believe himself to be in.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said reprovingly, “no need to be intense.”

“ _Intense? I’m_ the one who’s--” Bilbo took a deep breath. It didn’t help. “Look. Just tell me what the actual fuck they’re doing here. That’s all I’m asking.”

“All in good time,” Gandalf said with a twinkle, and tapped the side of his nose. Scottish Santa Claus -- Balin, that was it -- took the opportunity to squeeze past them, on his way to the kitchen. Just in time, Bilbo thought, to act as material witness to a murder.

“It’s the job, my lad,” Balin said, having apparently overheard their exchange. “Gandalf convinced us we need world class talent, and it’s hard to get hold of a fellow who’s off Smaug’s radar, hasn’t turned white hat, and isn’t in jail.” There was a pause. “Liked the warchalk mark, by the by. Very old school.”

“What?” said Bilbo.

 

***

 

The first thing Thorin Oakenshield said – not _to_ Bilbo; more to Gandalf over Bilbo's head – was, “Are you sure he's a hacker and not a food blogger?”

Which, first of all, rude; furthermore, the skill sets involved were _not_ mutually exclusive, thank you very much, as witnessed by Bag End's seven international amateur microbrewing awards; and more to the point -- as Gandalf pointed out in the ensuing heated discussion – Bilbo had _clearance._ His completely on-the-record gig consisted of poking holes in, say, the FBI's or Blackwater's customer software implementations, then fixing said exploits before nameless third parties ("I'm not saying the Chinese--" Gandalf began. "But you're saying the Chinese," said Balin) took a shot. Palantir let him telework from six time zones away and paid obscene amounts of money, which he spent on first editions, vintage modernist furniture, and imported brewing malts.

Clearance was the main thing. He wasn't going to give anyone access to anything, let alone Smaug "The Dragon," Interpol's number one most wanted in cybercrime; but Smaug had to know Bilbo _could._ Because Smaug had to believe that he approached Bilbo, not that Bilbo came to him.

 

***

 

"Because at this point, all Gandalf and Thorin had between them was a private key," said the journalist from _Wired._

"Well," said Bilbo. "One private key. One text encrypted with an unknown algorithm, that purported to describe the side door Thror built that gave you root on the entire kit and kaboodle – offshore bank accounts to finance the revolution, power plants and satellites disabled before your troops land -- in theory, you could turn up the thermostat in the Lonely Mountain bunker from two countries away. That was assuming Smaug hadn't found and cracked it himself. He'd as good as owned that pile since, what, 2001?"

"And physical access was required."

"Yes."

"Meaning that once you found the right system, you would need to, for example, manually slot a USB key into the back of a server. Possibly while Smaug was in the next room."

"......Yes. But the hard part was just identifying that physical point of access. We had to talk to the elves for that."

"You volunteered for this?" said the journalist from _Wired._

Bilbo sighed, and set down his teacup.

"I rose to the bait," he said. "It was a _lot_ of money."

**Author's Note:**

> Discovered in my Google Drive and amnestied (this probably dates back to the first movie). If I remember correctly the White Council is the CIA and the wood elves are a shady Eastern European security firm slash mafia family.


End file.
